


Velvet Crowbar

by Violette_Pleasures



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Bottom Carl Grimes, Capo Bastone/Donna!Carl, Daddy Kink, Don!Negan, Gang Violence, Italian Mafia, M/M, Mafia AU, Mild Gore, Murder, Murder Husbands, Organized Crime, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Sort Of, Sugar Daddy, Top Negan (Walking Dead), Violence, White Collar Crime
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 02:03:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13537356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violette_Pleasures/pseuds/Violette_Pleasures
Summary: “Well, you see, the real fuckin’ deal here is we gave you plenty of time to get the fuck off my turf and outta my goddamn sight and yet, here you still are, like fuckin’ rats scurrying beneath my floorboards and I just can’t let this slide any longer.”Carl stood directly behind the Boss, the man in charge with his white teeth gleaming, a malicious fanged smile, in the low light of the dirty factory. He swallowed hard watching the older man roll his shoulders and crack his neck with a tilt of his head as he approached the three men tied tight to chairs at the center of the room.///The Salvatore family is one of the most powerful crime families in New York. The Don's hands are in a million different things, pulling strings like a spider on a web. He's got a taste for violence and an unquenchable thirst for blood and loves doling out punishments to those who wrong him inside the walls of his beloved Sanctuary. And Carl is madly, hopelessly in love with the man.





	1. My Old Man Is a Bad Man, But He Got a Soul as Sweet as Blood Red Jam

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Leef](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leef/gifts).



> I'm so excited to finally be sharing this with you guys! I've been working hard and doing a ton of research (though I'm sure I still made a bunch of mistakes nvn;) and tried really hard to tie the two worlds together somewhat. So far, I'm at about 20k words and its looking like this will run about 4-5 chapters as of right now, but that's tentative at best.
> 
> I just wanted to say a big thank you to Leef/buriedbrain and neganslittlefutureserialkiller over on tumblr for their support and for giving me the push I needed to write this! You guys are seriously the best!

“Well, you see, the real fuckin’ deal here is we gave you plenty of time to get the fuck off my turf and outta my goddamn sight and yet, here you still are, like fuckin’ rats scurrying beneath my floorboards and I just can’t let this slide any longer.”

  
  


Carl stood directly behind the Boss, the man in charge with his white teeth gleaming, a malicious fanged smile, in the low light of the dirty factory. He swallowed hard watching the older man roll his shoulders and crack his neck with a tilt of his head as he approached the three men tied tight to chairs at the center of the room.

  
  


Louis, Edmond and Francesco Donello, the three sons of the since passed Don of the Donello mafia. They were the lowest of the low, made their bloodmoney in dealing and cashing in human lives like poker chips–traffickers. Children in particular. Negan had warned them, multiple times at that, each warning less kind than the one before, since the passing of their father to get the hell out of New York. But here they were, still thinking the Boss of the Salvatore family was just all talk. If they weren’t scared before, they sure as shit were now, whimpering and pleading with Negan to not kill them or cut anything off.

  
  


Again.

  
  


“P-please! Negan–sir!” Francesco, the youngest of the idiot trio sniffled around his white cloth gag that was now stained with blood and snot. His right hand steadily poured blood, a flush slice where his pinky used to be. “We’ll go! Me and my brothers, we’ll just leave! We understand who’s in charge now!”

  
  


“I’m sure you do, you little shit stain.” Negan’s voice was cool and smooth, rich whiskey on the rocks in the summer shade, in a way that completely belied the dangerous look he was casting down at the young man before him. “But as I said before, I have given you multiple chances, a show of my understanding and generosity and how do you three absolute fuckin’ ignoramuses repay my kindness?” He begins pacing up and down the line, his muscles flexing beneath his leather jacket like a panther’s roll beneath it’s silky black fur. Carl loved when he wore that jacket, knew it meant blood on the cement floor, viscera and molars flying, knew it meant murder. “YOU DELIBERATELY DISOBEYED ME! THE FUCKIN KING OF NEW YORK! And I do not abide by those who do not abide by me. Carl!”

  
  


“Y-yes!” Carl jumped hard, snapping to attention, at hearing his name suddenly called out. He was eternally distracted by the enigmatic body language of the powerful Don. Negan tossed him one of his half-crazed, but baby do I fuckin love you smiles and wiggled his finger for him to come over.

  
  


“Bring me Lucille, honey.” Negan’s voice was a creamy dulcet he reserved just for Carl and it never failed to make him shiver a little. He took the barbed wire wrapped bat from Carl, picking her up and holding her with the same tender reverence he always had. Another flash of pearly whites. “She’s a thirsty girl tonight, don’t you think?”

  
  


“Parched, I think.” Carl ran a fingertip up the hardy piece of ash, pad tripping over the barbed wire, biting his lip as he looked up through his lashes at the older man.

  
  


“Damn baby, never cease to get my dick twitchin’.” Negan grinned and winked, bending to give Carl a quick, wet kiss that left the teen’s lips shining and chin with the dull ache of beard burn. “Now, where was I? Oh that’s right…consequences.”

  
  


Negan turned on his heel, tugging the edge of his leather glove up and into place. With a flick of the wrist, he twirled the bat, giving it a test swing that made the three men flinch, terror written all over their pallorous faces. “Now where do I start? Should I start with the youngest?” He aimed the bat and Francesco. “Or the oldest?” He directed Lucille at Louis. He paced back up and down the line once more, weighing his options.

  
  


“Maybe, I should just start right in the middle.” He raised Lucille and brought the barbed wire wrapped bat down on Edmond’s head, the crack like thunder, skull bones splitting like the dry ground that opened its gaping maw and swallowed down the Israelites. The muscles of Negan's arms bunched and lengthened as he lofted the bat and swung it down hard. The chair tipped over and Edmond's body hit the floor with a squish-thud. Blood exploded like fireworks across the cold concrete with the cries and terrified screams of the other Donello brother's a macabre bassline to Negan's gory orchestral arrangement.

  
  


With Edmond nothing more than an unrecognizable puddle, the Don laughed, breathless and exultant as he turned his wild rage to the eldest brother. A sideways swing of Lucille, its over the fence, home run, saw jaw dislocating and cheekbone breaking. Louis's cries came out as garbled, wet mutters, blood muddling his words. He too was quickly dispatched, leaving only the youngest, sniveling little Francesco. Carl almost felt sorry for him, seeing the panic and terror plain on his face, pants wet where he'd pissed himself. He wasn't much older than Carl.

  
  


As Negan walked around the back of the youngest Donello, his gaze lifted to Carl. He looked Carl over, eyes raking over him from head to toe making him shiver. Negan placed a heavy hand down on Francesco's shoulder. “Don't worry, I'll make your death quick and painless, one hard swing. So take it like a man, alright? Quit cryin'.”

  
  


Francesco's dark brown eyes met Carl's in a pleading look and Carl couldn't look away, knew this was something he had to watch. He set his jaw, gaze flicking up to Negan's over the young man's head and held his breath as Lucille came down like a guillotine. The last Donello boy could easily be identified, unlike his older brothers, handsome face streaked with the halo of blood clinging to his dark curls. It was a pity really, for someone so young and beautiful to be gone from this world because of a bond to a group of people that he happened to call family. But what did he know? His sympathetic attachment was just that, aesthetically pleasing sympathy seen most clearly through hindsight and the glass lense of significance at having held his life in his small hands. He had no idea who this man was, how he acted, what he had done that brought him to this point; he could've been just as vile as his father, but Carl somehow doubted that.

  
  


“C'mere, sugar.” Negan purred, face and stubble a smattering of bloody constellations, lips curling in that intoxicating smile. God, his man was beautiful. He swaggered closer and cupped Carl's face, smearing sticky blood along his cheek and bottom lip. The kiss that had a bright, coppery tang to it. “Lets go home, hmm? Daddy needs some rest. Arat, Jared, get this shit cleaned up and call Eugene to destroy any forensics. Put young Frankie here on the steps of his family's whore house; we need to send a message that the King of New York does not fuck around.”

  
  


Slinging an arm around Carl's shoulders, Negan directed them to the emergency wash off in the corner of the factory. He had nicknamed the old smelting plant the Sanctuary because it was his place to carry out punishments, teach his lessons to those who sinned against him, take out his aggression and rage without consequence and “nothing made him feel closer to god.” He stepped into the narrow stall, clothes and all, and yanked the chord, dousing him in freezing cold water. He shouted a few expletives as he quickly rinsed gore and viscera from his body. The water rolled off the black leather, tinged pink on the pale grey concrete.

  
  


Negan stripped without a care as to who was watching, perfectly at home in his nakedness. Carl couldn't keep his eyes from wandering all over his exposed skin, tan and wonderfully lean and toned where it counted. Even in the cold water, his length was heavy between his legs and made Carl's mouth water. “Like what you see?” Negan taunted when he caught Carl checking him out.

  
  


“You know I do.” Carl blushed, trying to sound sexy, but his dry throat made it fall short. He swallowed, trying to get some moisture back in his mouth.

  
  


“When we get home,” Negan smiled and shook his head, water droplets flying off his salt and pepper strands, “why don't you put on something pretty and help me relieve a little stress?” He wrapped the towel Carl handed him around his waist and grabbed the teen's ass, pulling their hips flush together.

  
  


“Haven't you done enough stress relief for one day, psycho?” Carl teased, leaning up to lick just inside Negan's lips, coaxing a filthy kiss out of him. He moaned sinfully when he was rewarded with Negan's tongue slipping hot into his mouth, sliding together with his own.

  
  


“Its never enough, darlin'. Not where your concerned.” He bit Carl's lip hard before pulling back and slapping his ass. “Lets get the hell out of here.”

  
  


///

  
  


Home was in the Upper East Side. A luxurious penthouse apartment that overlooked Central park decorated in rich gold filigree molding, white marble countertops, the plushest white carpets. All the beds were dressed in silk sheets with goose down pillows and comforters imported from France. In all his life, Carl had never seen such opulence, but found he quickly developed a taste for being a bit of a kept boy.

  
  


Carl still vividly recalled the first time he had seen Negan. He'd been sitting on the stage at Black and White, a gentlman's club where he'd danced and served, wearing a red bra and panty set. Then _he_ walked in. Hair slicked back, suit tailored to within an inch of perfection, like James Dean, fresh to death—Negan Salvatore. Their eyes met and that was that, inseparable ever since.

  
  


When Negan had first pulled him out of the gentleman's club, he had insisted Carl stay at home, lounge in his Gucci and Armani shirts and eat figs and grapes all day. Carl had gone stir crazy sitting like a princess in a high tower, he needed something to do.

  
  


He wasn't an idiot, he knew who Negan was, knew what his family did, the problem, or maybe not, was that he simply didn't care. Negan was intoxicating in the best of ways and he wanted to impress the man, be his dream, be whatever he needed him to be. Carl had asked multiple times, too proud to outright beg, to be allowed to help, promised to do whatever job was given to him. Every time, Negan told him no, told him he wanted him safe, to be the one thing in his life that wasn't tainted by his work.

  
  


But Carl pushed and Negan caved.

  
  


He'd roared at him in a rage that Carl had never seen before, 'You want to be a part of this so fuckin' badly, then I'll show you what it goddamn takes!', and drug him to The Sanctuary where he got to see how the Don taught his lessons. It was the first time Carl got to see the infamous black leather jacket and meet Lucille. Negan hadn't killed the man tied to the chair that night for crimes Carl now couldn't remember, but the lesson was still ghastly: a red hot iron to the side of the face. Carl had seen men around Black and White with those scars but never understood where they came from or what they meant. He'd seen it then, that crazed look the leader of the Salvatore family got in his eyes when death and violence were near. And he hadn't been afraid. If anything, he loved Negan even more, watching him apply the hot iron to the man's face with such knuckled down contentment as he looked right into Carl's eyes and Carl had looked right back. Negan had fucked him senseless that night, right on the leather of the backseat in his town car and Carl had woken up laying on silk and to a choker with rubies the size of the grapes he should be eating draped across his throat.

  
  


Carl made his way into the sitting room, fire crackling to life in the marble trimmed fireplace, for a nightcap while Negan hashed out a few more details with his men in the dining room. He relaxed into Negan's armchair, upholstered in black velvet and smelling of cigar smoke and good scotch, and gazed up at the painting above the mantle. Lucille. The original. The real one. She was beautiful, olive skin and dark brown hair and beautiful green eyes that shone like emeralds even through the brushstrokes and oil paints. She was the one who had been there when Negan was no one, a daughter of the Milanesi family who had seen in him something special, knew who he would become someday just by looking at him. She had helped make Negan who he was today and Carl couldn't help being a little jealous.

  
  


No one had helped Negan expand his empire like Carl had, though. Negan quickly learned Carl could be just as cold and ruthless as he was. Carl went from counting the money to collecting it from the debtors and drug dealers in no time, breaking a few bones when he had to. He's pretty sure Negan fell a little more in love with him every time he pulled the Beretta he gave him from his thigh holster.

  
  


“Hey, darlin'.” Large calloused hands came to rest on Carl's shoulders, breaking him from his reverie. Negan bent and kissed the top of his head. Even though the couldn't see his face, Carl knew Negan was looking up at Lucille's portrait. “Lets go to bed. I'm beat.”

  
  


“Mm, yeah.” Carl finished off his drink as a punctuation. “Let me get ready and I'll be right there, babe.”

  
  


In his walk in closet, Carl stripped out of his clothes from earlier and picked out a sumptuous set of green silk panties and black thigh-high stockings. Negan referred to his closet as his boudoir, but Carl was loathe to call it that. Feeling a little sentimental, he grabbed the small velvet box containing his ruby choker and headed for the bathroom.

  
  


He always took care washing and moisturizing, wanting to always be the soft thing Negan could take comfort in at the end of the day. He went so far as to have his whole body waxed every few weeks, leaving miles and miles of smooth, oiled skin for his lover to touch. A daub of perfume behind his ears and Carl was ready.

  
  


Pushing open the large doors trimmed and fastened with gold filigree, Carl walked into Negan's bedroom. The man himself was relaxed back on the bed wearing nothing more than a silk sheet draped across his lap and large grin on his face. Carl bit his lip as he slunk over to the bed and slowly crawled across the sheets to get to his older lover. “Hey, honey.”

  
  


“Hey, baby boy.” Negan pulled the sheet aside and settled Carl into his lap. His eyes caught on the choker and brushed his fingertips along the jewels. “Haven't seen this in a while.”

  
  


“Tonight made me think of that first time.” Carl rolled his hips against Negan's, feeling his hard member press into his ass. He gripped Negan's shoulders and bent to nibble at the older man's earlobe and neck. “Come on...fuck me like you did that night.”

  
  


“Gladly.” Negan flipped them easily, sliding between Carl's thighs and pushing them open with rough hands. Feather light touches ghosted over Carl's erection through the satiny fabric before deft fingers tore through the flimsy material, destroying the lingerie. He moved his fingers lower, pushing hard and indelicate into the teen's slick, stretched entrance. “Already wet for me, too? Damn, honey...”

  
  


“Anything for you, babe.” Carl moaned breathy as Negan worked two thick fingers inside him, massaging his prostate and making precum honey-drip onto his stomach. His cock twitched hard when his lover pressed rough into the sensitive gland, back arching off the bed.

  
  


“Do you like feeling my fingers inside you?” Negan husked, hot breath tracing over Carl's skin, his whisper sending gooseflesh all over him. He slowed his hand, fingers dragging against the rim as he pulled out and catching as pushed back in just as painstakingly slow.

  
  


“Yes...God...please, Negan...” Carl's words stuttered and stopped as his breath caught in his chest, ribs expanded in full creating a hollow that Negan ran his sinful tongue all over as he applied forceful pressure to his prostate. “Put your cock in me...please I need it...”

  
  


“That's my beautiful boy, lemme hear that voice...” Negan moved over Carl, shoving his legs up none too gently and forcing his large cock inside the teen's tight heat. Carl screamed in delighted pleasure pain, just for his man, and dug kitten sharp nails into Negan's back, pulling a feral growl out of the older man. “...that's right, angel...let all of Manhattan know how good I fuck you...”

  
  


The pendant of Negan's gold chain, a simple crucifix, dug into Carl's skin leaving a red indention of the Savior just below Carl's collarbone as their chests pressed closer together. Their skin was slick with sweat already, breathing hard with the exertion of their rough fucking. Negan pulled out of the young body beneath him and manhandled Carl onto all fours and shoved back inside without warning.

  
  


“Hands on the headboard, boy.” That voice had Carl instantly obeying, gasping and scrabbling to lock dainty fingers onto the headboard. Tears welled in Carl's eyes, god it hurt, but it was so good at the same time, spilling over when Negan wrapped a hand around his throat from behind, rubies and diamonds strangling him in opulence. The new position had him upright, an almost painful curve in his spine, bouncing on his lovers rigid sex. The heavy mahogany headboard thudded against the wall, bang bang, my baby shot me down, chipping the plaster on a particularly strong thrust.

  
  


“N-Negan...” Carl's teeth chattered through the name. He wasn't cold, but the anticipation, riding that edge of pounding torment and overwhelming pleasure, had tremors running through him. His length was aching unattended and bobbing between his thighs.

  
  


“You know what you gotta say if you wanna come, sweetheart.” Negan's voice was a deep rumble, vibrating against his back. His hand's held Carl's hips tight, bones digging into skin digging into bones.

  
  


“Please, make me come...please, sir.” Carl was near sobbing, throat feeling fucked raw and dry. Air was scarce between Negan's hand and the choker and trying to speak the necessary words Negan wanted him to barter for his release. As his vision began to blink out, a hand wrapped around his cock sudden and almost painful, stroking him fast and rough to completion. He cried out his lover's name, the hand came off his throat and Carl was coming hard, dick twitching in Negan's large, warm hand, body shaking from top to bottom. The orgasm was mind blowing, stars winking in and out of his vision.

  
  


“Don't you let go of that headboard. Daddy hasn't come yet.” Negan's hands clamped down over Carl's, black wood digging into his palms, helping him keep hold. He picked up the pace, hips slapping into Carl's sensitive ass. “You're doing so good for me baby...so damn good.”

  
  


“Th-thank you, Daddy.” Carl whimpered, body feeling stretched and used to the limit.

  
  


With a groan, Negan came inside his young lover, cock expanding and stretching him further as he filled the pliant boy. Carl managed a weaker moan, some combination of Negan and a holy expletive. The older man's grip slackened and the teen fell exhausted onto the bed, face buried in the luxurious down pillows. Strong arms encircled him and pulled Carl into a broad, warm chest dusted with black and grey hair. “That was fantastic...you did so well for me, baby.”

  
  


“Mmm...love you.” Carl snuggled into Negan, already drifting off to the sound of his steady heartbeat, his praises never failing to leave him with a glowing warmth at the center of his chest. Whether it was murder or making love, Negan always rewarded him with words coated in that rich tone, soft ice cream melting and running over your hand dripping with sweetness.

  
  


“Ti amo, caro. Always.”

  
  


///

  
  


Carl woke the next morning alone, which by now, he should really be used to. Negan woke before dawn most days, despite how late he may have been up the night before. He usually swam laps in the pool or exercised in the gym, determined not to become 'some flabby man in a chair.' The idea of a chubby Negan doing nothing but sit around and eat while everyone else worked around him made Carl laugh a little to himself. The Don would never slow down. He'd sooner work himself to death than not have his hands physically in his business.

  
  


“Donna?” The maid knocked on the door before pushing it open a crack. “Your breakfast is ready, sir. The master is taking breakfast at the poolside.”

  
  


“Thanks, Isadora. ” Carl mumbled and ran a hand over his mussed hair, still feeling groggy. He pushed himself out of bed and into Negan's robe, throwing on a pair of plain boxer briefs as he headed out the door.

  
  


The indoor pool was in what used to be an old aviary on the roof, old paned glass, solder petinaed to black with age. One wall that housed the changing rooms and restrooms was covered in a thick plaster and painted a pale, Tuscan sun-yellow that was almost too cheery. The sun shone bright through the glass, casting shimmers on the bright blue ripples of the pool and heating the room and Carl instantly regretted not wearing his new shades. A few potted palms and other tropical plants otherwise unknown to the cold New York climate swayed happily along the poolside in large, colorful, Italian mosaic planters.

  
  


Negan was sat off behind a faux hedgerow of potted elephant ear plants, large, shiny green leaves affording some privacy to the impromptu breakfast nook. He was wearing his white square trunks that left little to imagination and left Carl wanting every time he saw them, blue terrycloth robe, loosely tied and left open to show off his tanned, toned chest, his ever present gold chain glinting in the sunlight, hazel eyes hidden behind a pair of vintage round shades. He looked so effortlessly cool and stylish it hurt.

  
  


“How's the King doing today?” Smiling, he sashayed towards Negan and perched himself in his lap.

  
  


Carl had taken to calling Negan that, a joke that had been taken too far at this point, on one of their dates to the arcade. He had challenged Negan to a shooting game, daring to say he could beat him and Negan, ever boastful, had claimed that if he was an excellent shot in real life, he sure as shit would be in virtual reality. To his surprise, Negan had beaten him, a wide smile that showed off his dimples as he crowed in triumph. Carl had laughed when Negan had pulled him into his side, arm slung across his shoulders, and admitted that Negan was the King. 'Of course, baby! The King of fuckin' New York!' had been his reply. God that felt like a million years ago.

  
  


“Better now that my Queen is with me.” Negan grinned up at him, showing off those dimples that Carl is certain has lead more than one person astray. He rested a large hand on Carl's back, dipping dangerously low. “Did you sleep well?”

  
  


“As much as you let me sleep, yeah.” Carl laughed and pushed at Negan's chest playfully. Bending his head, he met his older lover half way for a slow kiss that tasted like orange juice and cigarettes. After they broke the kiss, he reached across the table and snatched up Negan's pack of smokes and lighter, perching a cigarette between his lips and puffing it to life. He blew a long exhale of smoke up to the ceiling. “Do you not have anywhere to be today? Is it just me and you?”

  
  


“I don't have anywhere to be,” Negan trailed a hand up Carl's thigh beneath the robe making the teen shiver. “But, you do.”

  
  


“Ugh.” Carl groaned, the idea of a peaceful morning at home shattered.

  
  


“Hey now, doll face, you're the one that wanted a job.” He spanked Carl's butt swiftly, more a firm pat than an actual hit. “And oh you are just gonna love me so much because today you get to go visit your favorite supplier in the whole wide world.” Negan chuckled, even with the glasses in the way, Carl knew his eyes were twinkling with his laughter.

  
  


“Oh no, not them again, Negan! Come on! Make someone else do it!” Carl whined, giving Negan his best pout. He swung a leg around to straddle Negan, pressing them together in a way he hoped might distract him. He pulled Negan's glasses off and leaned in until their lips were brushing and whispered breathy-soft. “Please, daddy?”

  
  


Negan's lips parted and his tongue slipped into Carl's waiting mouth, giving him a kiss that left the boy clinging to him. Fingers scratched their way up to Carl's long hair, twisting the long strands around a hard fist. A jerking tug had his head falling back, neck exposed for Negan to take his time devouring. The flat of Negan's tongue licked a broad swath up the center of Carl's throat that ended in a sucking bite just behind his jaw. He pulled Carl by his hair until he was gazing directly into his eyes, face unreadable. “Sorry, princess, you gotta go.”

  
  


“You're such an ass.” Carl whimpered as his hair was released. “I hate the Trash People.”

  
  


“They're The Scavengers, honey. And they have the best supply of base and freebase in town or else I wouldn't bother with them myself.” They settled into the old woven chair, wooden frame giving a small creak in protest to the added weight. Negan's hand rested on Carl's thigh, squeezing gently.

  
  


“Jadis gives me the creeps.” Carl shivered with the heebie-jeebies for emphasis.

  
  


“Jadis gives everyone the creeps. Just make sure you don't say yes this time, alright?”

  
  


///

  
  


Down on the docks in the Brooklyn Heights area, afternoon sun starting its decent over the grungy grey haze of the horizon line, were The Scavengers. They were a group of distributors that could get just about anything you needed when it came to illegal substances, from the common street stuff to designer drugs only on the market in China and Germany. They lived and worked by the motto 'there's nothing in this world that isn't hidden' and that they will no doubt find it for you goes unsaid.

  
  


So far, they had yet to cut a dirty deal with Carl, but that didn't stop him from being more than a little wary of their leader, an odd woman with too pale skin and eyes that were just a little too big for her skull who spoke in broken English with a thick eastern European accent. She loved to haggle even if it didn't really get her anywhere; Carl suspected she liked arguing or maybe toeing the line that put her life at risk gave her a thrill to get her rocks off later, he didn't really know or care, he just knew she was an absolute nightmare to deal with. But Carl was the only person she would trade with, had made it blatantly clear by ignoring all of Negan's other dealers nearly to her own demise.

  
  


For some reason, maybe for discretion or people repellent, they operated out of a wrecked and permanently docked trash barge. Nothing could get that smell out of your hair or your clothes. Its why Carl referred to them as The Trash People. The weirdest thing was they all seemed so at home in all the refuse and filth, like they lived there. For all he knew, they probably did, which begged the question as to how they managed to get themselves taken seriously enough to start dealing with anyone, especially foreign suppliers, in the first place.

  
  


“Carl. Pleased you're here.” Jadis smiled, cool and robotic, as Carl approached the metal pop up table in the middle of the room flanked by Laura and Arat. Two other Scavengers stood behind Jadis, eerily placid and unmoving. “Money?”

  
  


“I have it here.” Carl hefted a suitcase full of fresh, crisp stacks of hundreds. “Let me see what you got.”

  
  


“Hope you're pleased as well.” Jadis gestured with a sweep of her hand to the bricks of cocaine piled on the table. Carl looked it over. The amount seemed right to him, but quality assurance was not his job. Drugs were the one thing he refused to fall into seeing how it effected his dad's best friend in his younger years.

  
  


“Laura.” Carl snapped his fingers, not even bothering to look up, knowing she would be at his side in an instant. He gesticulated to the stacks of drugs on the table, keeping his voice low. “What do you think?”

  
  


“It looks right to me, boss.” Her green eyes looked the pile over and she paused to lift up a brick, testing its weight. “Feels right.”

  
  


“Perfect. Thank you, Laura. And even if it isn't, we know where they live.” He turned back to Jadis with his most pleasant I'm only doing this because I have to smile. “Lets complete the transaction then.”

  
  


“Wait...”

  
  


Shit.

  
  


“Want more. Better supply, more money.” Jadis arched a thin dark brow, that arrogant look on her face that told Carl he was in for another argument.

  
  


“We agreed upon a hundred Gs and that's what you're getting.” Crossing his arms and standing his ground, Carl shot her his best go fuck yourself look.

  
  


“One twenty.”

  
  


“Ninety-five.”

  
  


“One fifteen.”

  
  


“Ninety.”

  
  


Jadis pursed her lips, obviously unhappy that Carl only kept lowering the pay beyond even what she was promised. “Final offer. One ten and we give you two more blocks of our purest coca base. Say yes.”

  
  


Goddamit. Carl huffed and moved forward into Jadis's face. It wasn't easy playing a game of chicken with a woman who seemed to have a death wish. “One ten, the coca base _and_ three bags of your best MDMA. Say yes.”

  
  


“Yes.” Jadis arched her dark brow again, happy this time, and nodded to her colleague who scampered off. “Pleasure as always.”

  
  


“Yeah yeah.” Carl rolled his eyes and called up their banker to arrange the extra ten grand he had just said yes to.

  
  


///

  
  


“You said yes.” Negan grumbled, not looking up from his paperwork scattered across his desk. He'd switched into one of his navy tailored suits, the top buttons of his white shirt undone and black tie hung off he back of his chair. A tumbler of whiskey sat sweating off to the side, turning the white papers it was perched on transparent.

  
  


“Technically she said yes.” Carl winced at his lover's tone. Usually he wasn't the subject of that unfeeling coolness and he found it stung. “And I got that new molly that everyone's been raving about—“

  
  


“ 'Technically' nothing, Carl. I gave you an order and you directly disobeyed me.” Negan tossed the pen he was holding onto the desk, the gold implement skittering across the top. He pushed up and out of his chair and moved around the desk to stand in front of Carl, arms crossed leaning back. In these moments, he towered over Carl, felt and looked larger than life, but Carl refused to look away or bow his head. He'd take whatever punishment Negan wanted to dole out like a man. “What do you think I should do about your disobedience?”

  
  


“Whatever you think is fitting.” Carl kept his chin up. Negan was known for his mercurial nature and even he wasn't safe from the Don's wrath when the mood struck him. He felt Negan's eyes on him, felt like prey, as he made a slow circle around Carl.

  
  


“Jesus kid, lighten up.” Negan grinned as he came back around to face the teen. His hazel eyes twinkled with amusement as he bent and kissed Carl's cheek affectionately. “What? Did you think I was going to spank you or something?” He reached up, holding Carl's chin between forefinger and thumb and toyed with his full bottom lip.

  
  


Carl knew he was blushing and fought not to avert his eyes in shyness. It blew his mind after everything they had done together, that he could still feel shy and be made to blush over things like this.

  
  


“In-fucking-credible.” Negan's bottom lip slid through his teeth as he smiled a little hungry and wolfish. He stepped away, breaking their contact and the moment. “You actually did really good, baby. Jadis has had her goddamn underwear twisted up her ass about that molly for months and you managed to get three bags plus the base? Damn, sugar, that's fuckin' impressive. Whatever profit is turned over from those pills is all yours. You've earned it.”

  
  


“Thank you.” Carl beamed at the praise.

  
  


“Where is it?” Negan leaned back and picked up his whiskey, making a displeased face as he took a sip. No doubt it was watered down to hell and back by now.

  
  


“In the dining room. Arat and Laura should have unloaded it all by now.”

  
  


“Well, lets go look at my shit.” He grinned and walked passed Carl.

 


	2. White Lines, Pretty Baby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starting to expand the world a little bit and see a little bit of the toxic side of Carl and Negan's relationship.
> 
> I may delete this and repost later. I'm feelimg super insecure about it for some reason, just a heads up

Rhee's Pizzaria and Bakery had the best wood oven pies in all of New York as far as Carl was concerned. The couple that ran the shop, Glenn and Maggie Rhee, were nice enough, but it was fairly obvious how much they didn't like Negan or Carl or anyone affiliated with the Salvatore family or, at least, felt very nervous around them by the short nature of their conversations and lack of any sort of enthusiasm which they afforded other customers. Carl really couldn't understand their discomfort at this point, Negan had taken them out from under their debt.

  
  


It helped that real-estate was Negan's cover. It was how he laundered his money and kept the high amount of money tumbling through his doors look more legit. He'd give the money from drug or firearm sales to one of his capos, they in turn would purchase one of his properties and just like that, less sketchy looking books and a steady income. And it just so happened the Rhee's were falling behind in their mortgage when Negan had first started eating there, but that disappeared pretty quickly once he became their most loyal customer.

  
  


Their “protection” fees also seemed to mysteriously disappear overnight. They were exempt from getting shook down or threatened by anyone of the Salvatore family. Negan also hinted that should any rival gangs give them trouble, they need only give him a ring and he'd have it taken care of.

  
  


The little golden bell above the door tinkled as members of the Salvatore gang began trickling into the little pizza place. A long table had been set up in the back right next to the rustic, fresco-style mural of a farm Maggie claimed was her dad's just for the occasion. Wooden floorboards creaked as if to object their stay as well as chairs were pulled out and the meal began.

  
  


Carl and Negan were sat at the head of the table, Carl in one of the many fur coats Negan had purchased for him, draped off his shoulders to reveal a tight, cold shoulder shirt beneath. Negan was in his navy suit, now done up, tie in place. Dinners with the Don and his family were much like any family dinner: food, wine and laughing at bad jokes.

  
  


“Jared told me this one the other day: how many mobsters does it take to throw a man down the stairs?'” Dwight grinned as he paused and took a swig of his beer. Everyone sat silent for a moment, a few rolled their eyes. The blonde man laughs as he gives the answer. “ 'None. He fell.'” A few chuckles resounded around the table, even Negan laughed at the corny joke.

  
  


“Alright, quiet down.” Negan cleared his throat and tapped his wineglass with his fork. “I know you all know we're here for more than some excellent food and Dwight's bad jokes.” He grinned at the other man. “I need to know who has paid their tribute and who hasn't and don't tell me everyone has paid up because things are lookin' a little fuckin' short in the books. What am I paying you assholes for if you can't even shake down a few folks?”

  
  


“Your pizza, sir. Pepperoni, Genoa salami, cappicola and prosciutto, right?” Glenn hefted a large wooden paddle with the hand tossed pizza sizzling on top. The smell alone had Carl's stomach rumbling.

  
  


“Yes. Perfecto, thank you.” Negan smiled up at the young man who only responded with a curt nod and a tight smile before heading back to the kitchen. Negan shook his head as he watched Glenn. “Someday he's gonna get used to us. Cuz I sure as shit am not going anywhere else for pizza ever again.”

  
  


“Maybe if you didn't always look so dapper and intimidating, he'd warm up to you.” Carl teased, sliding a slice onto his plate.

  
  


“Looking intimidating is part of the job, honey!” Negan winked as he dug into his own slice with knife and fork, always so proper. He wiped at his mouth with a linen napkin before speaking again. “Like I was saying, the numbers don't add up, so I need to know who's so damn eager to meet Lucille up close and personal.”

  
  


A flurrying of hands and excuses came from just about every direction at the table. That was right about when Carl started tuning everything out and picked up his phone, letting Negan handle it. He scrolled through his instagram feed, kinda wanting a post a pic of everyone talking over each other at the table and caption it #familydinner. Weird as it was, all these guys, mostly capos with a few of their lackeys, felt like family to him. He knew it was dangerous to think that way, any one of these guys would stab him in the back just as surely as they would smile and grovel. No one was particularly pleased when the youngest member of the group, becoming a made man and earning his bones seemingly over night, became the second Underboss.

  
  


“Okay, Jesus Christ, calm down. Everyone shut it. I said shut the fuck up, Gregory!” The Don's irritated baritone rumbled, snapping everyone's jaw shut and their eyes to him. “You guys over on Hilltop will simply have to find a way to make up the balance. I'm not giving you guys anymore supply until you figure out where what I already gave you went without being paid for. Which, and I know you're a smart guy, Gregory, shouldn't be too hard to figure out who thought it was a good idea to steal from me and is tweaking out on my good shit.”

  
  


“Y-yes of course, Boss! I'll find them right away!” Gregory sniveled, tripping all over himself to placate the upset Don. Gregory was a middle aged man with thinning hair who always wore cheap suits but demanded he be treated like the wore the Giorgio Armani ones the Boss did. His crew's boundaries were set somewhere around Hilltop Street, further out from the city than some of the other crews, but he was perfect for selling to all those middle class suburbanites he was more than likely bred from.

  
  


“Good. Make it snappy.” Negan nodded his ascent and continued eating.

  
  


The rest of the meal carried on much like it had before, still loud but less tense. Maggie came around with the bill not too long after the Don had finished his meal. Of course he gave her a dashing smile and tipped beyond generously, two crisp one hundred dollar bills slid into the front of her apron, and of course she gave a barely there smile and said 'thank you' before walking back behind the counter.

  
  


After everyone had left, Negan pulled out Carl's chair and helped him slip his coat back on. He picked the bill up from the table and ambled over to the register where Mrs. Rhee was wiping down the floury counters. Right by the register was a glass case filled with all the pastries she made. Today, there were cupcakes, pies, cannoli, almond tea cakes and fruit tartlettes all baked to perfection, all looked delicious.

  
  


“Maggie. Excuse me, Mrs. Rhee.” Negan pulled out his wallet and set the bill on the counter.

  
  


“Oh, let me get that for you.” Maggie took the credit card Negan handed over, but paused before she swiped it. “Do you want any desserts before you leave?”

  
  


“Sure, thank you. You do have the best pastries in town.” The Don turned towards the teen at his side. “Carl, be a doll and pick a few things out, hmm?”

  
  


With a smile, Carl nodded eagerly and began eyeing everything in the case. He was going to put on so much weight if Negan kept feeding him like this. He also knew Negan obviously needed a moment and he didn't want to pry.

  
  


“How's your dad doing?” He leaned on the counter, keeping his voice low.

  
  


“He's doin' just fine, thanks. The new prosthetic has been real helpful, doesn't pinch or rub him raw like the last one did.” Maggie mostly kept her head and gaze downward while she spoke, but finally she turned green eyes up towards Negan. “Thank you for paying for the medical bills. You really didn't have to do that.”

  
  


“It was nothing. My thanks to you for making the best damn pies in New York.” Negan waved a hand dismissively, looking just a little sheepish. Carl found it endearing. “How's the baby? He growin' up big and strong?”

  
  


“Yeah, Ty is doing real well. You know, he just said his abc's in the correct order yesterday.” Mrs. Rhee's smile beamed with pride and Carl thought she looked so pretty, he wished she would smile like that all the time. “He'll be going to preschool this spring.”

  
  


“That's wonderful. I'm glad to hear it.” Negan smiled, something honest and genuine. “You know, if the little guy ever needs anything, just let me or one of my guys know and I'll do what I can.”

  
  


Maggie pursed her lips for a moment, obviously weighing her next words carefully. With a determined look she spoke again. “Thank you for your generous offer. I'll keep it in mind.”

  
  


“Fantastic.” Negan walked over and placed a hand on Carl's back, rubbing gently. “You made up your mind yet?”

  
  


Carl turned and grinned up at him all toothy and overtly full of trouble. “Yeah. One of everything, please, Mrs. Rhee!”

  
  


///

  
  


Negan looked down at his phone, scrolling through his contacts before selecting one and hitting the call button. They were in the backseat of Negan's black Mercedes Benz, windows tinted black, all leather interior, being driven home by a chauffeur. He placed the phone between his shoulder and ear, waiting for someone to pick up.

  
  


“Church of Salvatore, if you've got the cash, we'll take out the trash, son of God speaking, how may I help you?”

  
  


“Can it, Paul.” Negan snapped into the phone, giving Carl a stern look when he giggled at the self proclaimed ninja extraordinaire's greeting. “I have a job for you.”

  
  


“Yeah, you never call unless you want something.” Paul sulked.

  
  


“I swear to god—“

  
  


“Sorry boss, sorry. What's going on?”

  
  


“Are you still over by Hilltop?” Negan nodded when Paul confirmed his assumption. “Well, I need you to do some recon. Someone is using my shit without my permission and I need you to smoke out the little field mouse in my grain silo.

  
  


“And do you want me to perform a little extermination when I find them?”

  
  


“No, just report back to me for now, okay?”

  
  


“Right. See ya around, boss.”

  
  


Negan ended the call with an affirmative noise and snagged the desert box between him and Carl on the backseat. “You're so damn skinny, where do you put it all?” The older man groused, cannoli in hand as he watched Carl polish off his fourth tartlette.

  
  


“Here.” Carl barely stopped eating long enough to point to his thighs and butt which makes Negan laugh, nearly choking on powdered sugar.

  
  


“So that's how a little twink like you ends up with a peaches and cream ass like that.” He grins, tongue sticking out slightly between his teeth.

  
  


“Its the only way.” Carl shrugged like it was such a travesty to have to eat sweets. He may have been nineteen and knew better, but hey, he was _nineteen_ if he wanted his diet to mainly consist of sugary garbage, that was his choice. Its not like his metabolism couldn't handle it. “So keep the sweets coming!”

  
  


“Anything for my princess.” Negan joked as the car came to a stop outside their apartment building. Ever the gentleman, he held Carl's door open for him and waved good bye to the chauffeur and hello to the doorman as he lead Carl by the hand through the doors and into the elevator.

  
  


Carl didn't think he'd ever get used to Negan's impeccable manners. It made him wonder briefly if he treated Lucille the same way as the elevator dinged and the doors whooshed open. He probably treated her even better. She was his true Queen; Carl was just a pretender to the throne. It was tough trying to compete with someone who was already dead. But he'd do it if that's what it took to keep Negan's gaze and attention on him. He strove to be even better than she had been, but knew he probably barely met her standards on a good day.

  
  


“What are you thinking about?” Negan rocked back on his heels, hands in his pockets, the dessert box from the Rhee's under his arm. He lifted his Ray Ban shades and clipped the leg into his loosened collar.

  
  


“Nothing really.”

  
  


“C'mon now, babe. You can't bullshit a bullshitter.” He bumped into the teen playfully.

  
  


“I was, uhm, I was thinking about Lucille.” He admitted quietly, keeping his head down, eyes trained on the glossy floor of the elevator car.

  
  


“Huh.” Negan fell silent for a moment. He pushed the button to keep the doors closed once they reached their floor. “What exactly about Lucille?”

  
  


“I was just wondering if you...treated her like you treat me.” _Or better_ goes unsaid.

  
  


A heavy sigh left the older man before he spoke. “You mean the pulling the chairs out and holding doors open kind of stuff?” He waits for Carl's silent nod before continuing. “Yeah, but not as often as I should've.”

  
  


“Oh.” Its all Carl can think to say in the moment. He's mad at himself for feeling a little smug over that information; Negan always held open the door for him and helped him out of the car. It shouldn't matter to him how he treated her. They were different people and Negan was a different person then too. Maybe Carl wouldn't have fallen in love with that Negan. Maybe that Negan wouldn't have even looked at Carl that night.

  
  


“I learned my lesson once, l'amore della mia vita, and I'm not going to make the same mistakes twice.” He lifted Carl's hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to the back of it all while looking directly in his eyes with a soft affection that had Carl blushing terribly. He smirked and turned to push the button to open the door.

  
  


As soon as they walked into the apartment, they were greeted by the sight of Simon, the other capo bastone of the Salvatore family. He was an older man, closer to Negan's age with thick brown-black hair and a thicker mustache and dark, cunning eyes that were always assessing, always learning. He was in a light blue linen shirt and brown trousers, his usual relaxed look when he came to visit Negan.

  
  


“Ciao, Negan! Caro amico!” Simon opened his arms wide and brought Negan in for a hug. His hugs weren't of the manly pat pat variety, no, he drug you in and made you hug him whether you liked it or not which was hilarious to watch Negan, who hated being touched by anyone but Carl, be the subject of the affectionate embrace.

  
  


“Ciao, Simon.” Negan managed to smoothly extricate himself from the other man's touch.

  
  


“Carletto! Ciao!”

  
  


“Ciao, Simon.” Carl smiled and hugged back as he became the next victim of the older man's enthusiastic greeting.

  
  


For the most part, Carl enjoyed Simon's company. He could be really funny when he wanted to be and had about as much energy as Negan did so in that respect, the two were a perfect match for each other. But, Simon struggled with his vices and since misery loves company, Negan was often a part of his crazy coke binges or drinking stints that left both more miserable than before and hard to deal with. On those days, Carl wished he had the authority to kick Simon out and make him never come back. He was scared to death he'd come home one day to Negan on the floor, dead of an overdose.

  
  


“ I missed you at dinner today.” Negan lead them towards the den.

  
  


“Ah, sorry about that. I had a bit of trouble with one of the capos collecting your tribute.” The underboss shrugged in sarcastic disbelief. “What's with the kids these days? Can't keep track of shit for shit!”

  
  


“I ran into the same problem with the Hilltop crew today. Maybe its time to clean house a little?” The Don raised as eyebrow and smirked cruelly. “I already phoned Paul to check on a few things for me. Oh, Carl, sorry angel, do you want to have a drink with us in the den?”

  
  


“Nah, you two dinosaurs enjoy.” Carl waved a hand and turned towards his room.

  
  


“Dinosaurs?! Yeah, try saying that again later tonight, smartass.”

  
  


Carl scrunched his nose and stuck his tongue out before spinning on his heel and heading towards the bathroom. A long bath sounded like the perfect way to while away his evening while Negan and Simon talked.

  
  


///

  
  


Climbing out of the tub and toweling off, Carl padded into his closet and slipped on a pair of black lace panties and a short sleeve and shorts combo, satin Chanel sleep set, complete with large, jade buttons. He was surprised when he went into the bedroom to not find Negan there waiting for him or at least asleep. Taking a deep breath, he headed towards the den.

  
  


Everything was quiet and dark, until he got closer and could make out the faint sound of quiet laughter as he made his way down the hallway. Red-orange light flickered and cast black shadows across the wall meaning the fire was still on.

  
  


Slouching, looking more poured into the chair than actually sitting in it, Negan sat in his armchair in front of the fire, right arm lolling off the armrest. He gesticulated clumsily with his tumbler, laughing at something one of them said. Simon was beside him in the other armchair, Carl's armchair, looking equally as graceless. Negan's eyes lit up once he caught sight of Carl.

  
  


“There you are! Come here, baby!” Negan smiled wide, a little too loopy to be normal, and waved his arm for Carl to come over. Carl rolled his eyes good naturedly and walked over to his older lover, noting the faint white residue on his nose and hint of powder in his beard. He pulled the teen into a bear hug in his lap, chuckling as he nosed at his long, chestnut locks.

  
  


“Are you alright?”

  
  


“He's alright. We just had a few drinks and did a few lines. Nothing we can't handle.” Simon lifted a hand to get Carl's attention like he was their waiter or something. He had his sunglasses on inside. In the dark.

  
  


Negan nodded in agreement. “I'm fine...missed you.”

  
  


“I was just in the bath, babe.” Carl laughed lightly, looking over his shoulder at Negan whose pupils were blown, big as saucers; he's high as a fuckin' kite.

  
  


“That's why you smell so divine, mi amore.” Negan smiled and turned to grab something off the mirrored side table. Its a rolled up hundred and a small, rectangular plate with a handful of neat lines, diamonds turned to snow. He bent around Carl, putting the plate and bill in front of him. “Why don't you have a little fun too?”

  
  


Carl moved back as best he could in the limited space he had. “No, I don't use, remember?”

  
  


“Its why you always look like you got a stick up your ass.” Simon chuckled lazily, wiggling his eyebrows at Negan. “Let loose, do a little blow, kid. You're the Don's girl, act like it.”

  
  


That comment stung.

  
  


“Chiudi sto cazzo di bocca.” Negan gave Simon a reproachful look. “Don't say shit like that to him. You don't correct him. I do.”

  
  


“You don't need to stand up for me, I've got it. Just let him be an idiot and run his mouth into the ground. Maybe one day he'll end up with a bullet in there.” Carl crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at the other man across the room. Part of him wanted Simon to rise to the bait, give him a reason to show him how he earned the title of capo and Donna.

  
  


“Both of you. E-fuckin'-nough. I swear its like watching over a gaggle of goddamn children.” The Don sighed exasperatedly. He gestured with the tray and moved it back in front of Carl. “Now, c'mon baby, do this for me.”

  
  


“I don't want to.”

  
  


“Carl.” The way he spoke his name left no room for argument. Negan never called him Carl unless he was upset with him or he had royally screwed up. He realized that he probably had little choice in the matter. “Do a line. Relax with me, baby.”

  
  


His breathing escalating, Carl looked up, tried to catch Negan's eyes, show him how much he didn't want this, but Negan wasn't really there. He was off, sunk deep into his own high, in a place too selfish to care. “...okay, fine. I'll do it.”

  
  


“That's my good boy.” Handing off the tray to him, Negan wrapped his hand around Carl's hair, holding it back for him at the nape of his neck. The hold sent Pavlovian shivers down the teen's spine as he rolled the bill up. In a show of odd gentility, Negan held the rolled up bill for Carl, so all he had to do was lean over and inhale. “Do two for Daddy, mm?”

  
  


“You guys are fucking kinky as shit.” Simon commented from the peanut gallery, hands up in surrender. “I knew you were fucked, but Jesus. I'm out.” The older man stood from his chair quickly, looking somehow more disheveled than when he was sitting in a formless heap.

  
  


“Just take the guest room at the far end of the hall. Don't try and go anywhere like this, amico.” Negan called out to which Simon just gave a dismissive wave. The door shut with its tell-tale click and Negan turned all his attention back to his young lover. “Come on, baby boy.”

  
  


Carl took a shaky breath and bent over, clearing the first line. “Ack, goddamn!” He winced and shook his head slightly as the bitter powder coated the back of his throat and tongue. His nose felt like it was on fire. How anyone enjoyed this, he'd never understand.

  
  


“Takin' it like a fuckin' champ...just one more.” The praise was spoken with such genuine admiration and heat that Carl was eager to obey. He snorted up the second line with Negan's help and rested his head back on his shoulder, letting the drug run its fiery path down his throat. A thick finger, coated in the acrid powder pushed into his mouth, rubbing it along his gums and toying suggestively with his tongue. “You did so good. Just sit here and give it a minute, alright?”

  
  


The first thing to hit him was the sinking into a warm bath feeling of euphoria. He was so damn happy, his body felt amazing, Negan's lips trailing along his neck felt incredible, he was hard, aching and needy in no time flat. While he was riding that emotional wave, the sensation of a tingle, like fuzz on a broken tv, began creeping under his skin making his heart pound in his chest. He thought his ribs might bruise if it beat any harder, but he needed to move, a restlessness wound up inside him like a top ready to spin.

  
  


“Negan...” Carl's chest heaved, eyes falling in and out of focus. The firelight was almost blinding, like staring into the sun. He understood why Simon had his shades now.

  
  


“Feeling good?” The man's timbre vibrated against his back, a veritable purr along his spine. Large hands crept up slender thighs, dipping down in between and roughly prying them apart in one fast, jerking motion, putting the teen's arousal on full display.

  
  


“Its too good...I can't think straight.” Carl moaned as Negan wrapped a hand around his hardened cock over the silk of his pajamas, stroking him teasingly. Just that bare touch was indescribable and he needed more. He brazenly pushed his hips upward into Negan's hand, demanding a rougher pace and more friction.

  
  


Pushing his sleep shorts down, Negan slipped his hand inside black panties and grasped Carl's sex making the boy shudder. He growled a low hum of approval, honey poured over gravel. “Just let it happen. Don't try to fight it. Let me take care of you, angel.”

  
  


All Carl could do was nod eagerly, though the movement felt sluggish to his racing mind. He writhed in the older man's lap, feeling too much, too much good, to sit still. Shutting his eyes tight, he did as Negan suggested and just gave himself over to the drug. It felt like forever and a blink of an eye when he finally came under Negan's touch, panting and exhausted, yet still not satisfied. He needed more. Carl turned to face Negan, straddling his lap.

  
  


“Not enough, was it? Its a bitch chasing the dragon.” Negan chuckled when Carl shook his head, hand coming to rest on his young lover's waist. He reclined back into the chair, dark eyes twinkling as he looked up at Carl. “Well, what do you want to do about it?”

  
  


“I want you to fuck me.” Carl gripped Negan's shirt like the other man might try to run if he let go.

  
  


“Whatever my princess wants.”

  
  


///

  
  


The rest of night goes by in a swirling, watercolor blur of sweaty, desperate bodies, kisses and more coke with short flashes of clarity.

  
  


They moved their party into the kitchen, breaking out the good champagne and going through two bottles like it was water. Negan grabbed Carl's waist in a too tight grip and sat him up on the counter top, the marble cool against the backs of his thighs. With a wicked grin, Negan placed a little blue pill on his tongue and pressed it into Carl's mouth with a kiss. Carl found he didn't care what it was.

  
  


“Hey!” Champagne sloshed over Carl's fingers as Negan filled his glass too full.

  
  


“God, you're fuckin' beautiful, you know that?” Negan lifted Carl's hand to his lips to lick and suck the effervescent liquid off. “Inside and out. That twisted little mind of yours? I fuckin' love it.”

  
  


“Shut up. Tell me all this when we aren't high.” Carl giggled and tipped his drink back, spilling a little down his chin. It felt like his hands were vibrating.

  
  


“You're right. I should just show you instead.” Using the silk of Carl's pajamas to his advantage, Negan slid Carl off the counter top, turning and pinning him chest down to the white marble. He moved in behind Carl, pulling his sleep shorts and underwear down in one, swift tug.

  
  


Carl sighed a moan when Negan's fingertips skated ticklish against his exposed ass. He felt the resulting goosebumps on a whole new subatomic level, tingling under his skin. “More...keep touching me.” His voice came out whinier than he meant, but he felt so desperate for touch.

  
  


“Needy little thing, aren't you?” Negan chuckled as he rummaged through the cabinet beside them. He made a quiet triumphant sound when he found what he was looking for and the tropical summer scent of coconut wafted into the room. Oil slick fingers pressed inside the teen's body, coating him thoroughly. “Fuck, baby, you're sucking my fingers.” Another pause, blunt heat, an almost pained groan and pressure and he was filling Carl with his length. “Fuck...”

  
  


“Hnn! Negan...” Carl whimpered, feeling tears stinging the backs of his eyes. It didn't hurt, quite the opposite—it felt too good. The high was morphing into something heavier, something that made him feel like he was slogging through quicksand, but his body was becoming even more receptive to touch, felt like he could come from Negan sliding inside him alone. “...fuck me. Just fuck me...I need it.” He babbled, voice sounding distant and rippling, like talking underwater.

  
  


“Don't worry, angel.” With a snap of his hips, Negan seated himself fully inside Carl, making the teen cry out in pleasure pain.

  
  


///

“I feel...I feel like Peter Pan.”

  
  


“What?” Negan snorts. He's knelt in front of Carl, sliding his panties down his thighs.

  
  


At some point, Carl had changed, apparently, because he's standing there in a sheer, white, maribou trimmed robe that dusts the ground and a white bralette and panties to match. He doesn't remember where he left his pajamas.

  
  


“You know...Peter Pan, Neverland...I feel like I can fucking fly.” Carl rests his back against the ledge of the balcony, hair blowing like sheets of cashmere in the wind. It feels like with a hard enough breeze, the wind could pick him right up and whisk him away to where the other Lost Boys live. He pushes back farther until his head is free hanging in the open air, the cement railing digging into his shoulder blades, and spreads his arms wide.

  
  


“Careful there, sunshine.” Negan grabs his hips, reeling him back in just a little. “You can't fly, but maybe I can make it feel like you are.” His lip slipped through his teeth as he smiled up at Carl, all mischief and dimples. He licked Carl's cock from base to tip before swallowing it down.

  
  


Carl moaned pornographic and lewd, letting any and everyone in the vicinity know how good his man made him feel. He let his body go limp, let Negan take all of his weight, as he slid his mouth, lips and tongue all along his length. It was incredible. Everything dwindled down to him and Negan and the heat of his mouth surrounding him, making his nerve endings go off like fireworks.

  
  


///

  
  


“Yeah, just like that.” Negan leaned back against the rose-taupe tiles of the shower in the master bathroom, hand tangled in Carl's long, wet locks. The glass walls were fogged with steam that smelled like nag champa and vervain, all five shower heads on full blast, water coming in cascades like waterfalls.

  
  


Carl was on his knees, water pouring down his face, lips stretched wide around Negan's cock. He wanted to look up and watch his lover, but settled for listening to all the sounds he's making. He loves the quieter sounds, the small pained grunts, the almost reverent sighs, those he knows are real, isn't Negan playing the role of the showman he so desperately loves.

  
  


“...coming, baby...” Negan murmured, hand to the back of Carl's head to keep him right there while he pushed his dick down his throat. Carl held his breath as it expanded and twitched, spend spilling down the back of his throat. Negan let out a low growl of a moan as he came. He fisted Carl's hair and slowly pulled his length from between his blow job plump lips, long strings of sticky saliva connecting cock to mouth.

  
  


Strong arms encircled him as Carl stood on shaky legs that had gone numb from kneeling on the tile floor for who knows how long. Negan wiped the water from Carl's eyes with the corner of one of their fluffy, sand-colored towels thrown over the door. “Fuck me, I don't think I'll ever get tired of that. Or watchin' you do it.” He chuckled and Carl kinda wanted to smack him for it.

  
  


The high started to wear off, mind still buzzing and skin still tingling, but his body was worn out. It felt like he got hit by a truck. And his emotions were up, a little frayed and sensitive, like it wouldn't take much to laugh or cry or for one to turn into the other without hesitation. Carl swayed a little as his knees buckled and thank god Negan was there to catch him or else his head would've looked like a piece of Negan's work on their shower floor. “ 'm sleepy.”

  
  


“Yeah, I can see that, princess. Come on.”

  
  


Negan shut off the water and helped him out of the shower. Even through the haze, Carl could tell he was being extra gentle, treating Carl like he might break if he moved him too quickly. It made him tear up. Negan even took the time to towel Carl off himself before they climbed in bed and that felt like kindness in its purest form.

  
  


Negan fell exhausted onto the bed, laying on top of the covers, face planted firmly in his pillow. Carl turned back the corner of the covers on his side and crawled underneath, watching Negan breathe for a few moments, unable to comprehend what all had happened that night.

  
  


“C'mere, baby boy.” Negan turned on his side and lifted an arm in invitation. Carl was quick to accept and curled into Negan's chest, back to front. He lowered his arm, wrapping it about his young lover's waist. “That's better.”

  
  


Carl fell asleep to the sound of Negan's even breathing and to the feeling of his heartbeat against his back.

  
  


///

  
  


The next morning, Carl regretted everything. He regretted the coke, the booze, ugh, the fucking molly. Jesus, his head felt like it was splitting in two and every single muscle in his body was screaming at him. With a groan, he rolled onto his back.

  
  


“Mornin', sunshine.”

  
  


Carl just about jumped out of his skin. “Negan?”

  
  


“The one and only!” Negan singsonged at him, smiling like he'd just had the best night's sleep of his life and had a massage and a facial as soon as he woke up. He was practically glowing. He leaned forward and kissed Carl's forehead. “How are you feeling?”

  
  


“Like I laid down in the middle of Main and said 'just fuck me up!' and then rush hour traffic drove all over me.” Carl whined, hiding his face in his hands. The daylight made him want to hiss and hide under the overs until spring. “This is all your fault.” He grumbles.

  
  


“Aw, someone is being a drama queen today.” The older man baby talked at him, poking him with his fingers in an attempt to tickle him. It only earned him a glare and a very unpleasant sounding huff. “Jesus! Excuse me all to hell.” Negan sounded offended, but he was wearing his usual shit eating grin. “Let's get some food in you. That always helps.”

  
  


///

  
  


Sat at the breakfast table, a plate of pancakes and bacon set in front of him, Carl barely picked at his food. His stomach still turned somersaults, so he stuck with hiding behind his oversized Prada sunglasses and sipping his coffee. He curled his legs up into his chair, knee to chest and rested his forearms on them, wanting to crawl back in bed.

  
  


Simon joined them moments later, also wearing his sunglasses. He put his plate, already loaded with pancakes, bacon and hashbrowns, on the table and sat across from Carl. “Morning.”

  
  


“Mm'mm.” Carl grumbled out something that may have been good morning, or something close to, and lifted his cup slightly in greeting.

  
  


“Mornin', amico!” Negan still beamed, like the sun was shining just for him today.

  
  


Carl and Simon shared a look. Shades or no, they got what the other tried to convey about their beloved boss. _Fuck you, buddy._

  
  


 


End file.
